Flygirl by Sherri L. Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

colored housemaid.
    â€œPleasure, Miss Jones. It is ‘miss,’ I take it? Few husbands allow their wives the freedom to fly, let alone join the armed services.”
    I laugh in nervous relief and take the offered chair. “Oh, it’s ‘miss,’ all right. Much to my mother’s dismay.”
    Elisabeth Murphy laughs. “Ah, yes, the single woman’s burden, a lovingly over-involved mother. What does she say about you being here today?”
    I take a deep breath. I don’t know what I expected Uncle Sam to ask me today, but this is not it.
    â€œActually, ma’am, she doesn’t know. I mean, she knows about the program. I couldn’t help but tell her, but I don’t want her to know about this until it’s for sure. She’s . . . well, it’d take some doing for her to see another child off to war as a good thing. So she doesn’t really know.”
    I study my shoes, embarrassed by how young I must sound. I blush and my skin gets even darker when I think about the truth. How angry my mother would be at me for using Daddy’s license to be somebody I’m not. How she’d just die inside if she knew I was playing white.
    â€œYou know, maybe this was a mistake.” I start to rise, clutching at my purse, trying to pull back on my gloves. My face is hot, my skin prickling. Whatever confidence made me think I could do this is gone. That feeling of certainty I felt in the attic, holding Daddy’s pilot’s license, has left me, replaced with a cold, stinging sureness that I am about to get into more trouble than I can possibly handle.
    â€œI can’t say I don’t understand, Miss Jones, but the type of pilots we need are getting hard to come by. Lots of eager girls, but not ones with the right attitude. You came in here and you curtsied, first thing. That’s something I don’t see every day, except on the base, where we salute our superiors. It shows a humility a lot of kids don’t have today. A humility our boys are learning every day we fight overseas. It’d be a shame if we didn’t at least finish the interview and see where it goes. Who knows, maybe your mother will come around if she knows that you are special enough to make it into the WASP.”
    I can’t believe my ears. Here’s this white lady, smiling encouragingly at me. She’s come all the way from Washington, D.C. And she wants me. Ida Mae Jones.
    Elisabeth Murphy nods at the chair.
    I close my eyes. Mama, forgive me.
    I follow Mrs. Murphy’s lead. She sits down. I slowly, slowly follow.
    â€œGood. Now, that was the hard part. Being sure you want to be here. So, convince me. What makes this worthwhile to you? It’s a hard life; you might not make it through training. Most girls don’t. And people in your hometown will not understand. But I know you know that already. So why, Miss Ida Mae Jones? Why do you want to be a WASP?”
    I swallow hard, but the answer is easy. “Because, Miss Murphy. I want to fly again. I want to fly.”
    Elisabeth Murphy nods slowly. “That’s not good enough.”
    I feel myself start to blush again. Stop it, Ida Mae, don’t show this woman who you are, don’t give it away now, now that you’ve decided to stay. And then I realize, that’s it, show her who I am, not what I am. I am Ida Mae Jones of Slidell, Louisiana. Even if I’m playing at being white, even if I paint myself blue, I am still the child of my parents, still that little girl who loves her brother and loves to fly.
    â€œMy daddy brought home a Curtiss JN-4 when I was eleven years old. He taught me how to fly her, and that plane was my first real friend, aside from my brother Thomas. Daddy used to say the only time we are free is when our feet are off the ground.”
    â€œWell, a lot of people don’t think women can fly,” Elisabeth Murphy says. “Certainly not military planes. But that’s